The Metaphorical Cover of Darkness
by scully1138
Summary: "I knew you looked familiar - you're John Reese. Our paths have crossed before, in Istanbul at the market by the Bosphorus." They always knew that Alistair Wesley would enter their lives again one day. The just never anticipated the devastating results. Disclaimer: I do not own Person of Interest or these characters. The final chapter is now posted!
1. Chapter 1

The Metaphorical Cover of Darkness

Chapter 1

.

John Reese stumbled out of the library for the final time, closing his eyes against the blinding sunlight and his own unspeakable actions. Tourists and harried commuters brushed by him, the shrill sound of taxi horns filled the air, and he walked on in mute wonder that the world around him continued unaltered after he had so irreparably ripped apart his own life.

_Four hours earlier…_

He walked briskly towards the library, enjoying the warm morning air and looking forward to whatever the day might bring. It was Harold's turn to pick up breakfast, and John wondered if it would be muffins, donuts or something more interesting. One day his partner had turned up with _petit fours_, but the little cakes were so sweet that they were both on a sugar high for the rest of the morning. It was a small, silly memory, but not one that he would ever part with. Even when it came to pastries, his friend still surprised him. John checked his pocket - which held new treats for Bear - and quickened his pace. His loft was extremely comfortable, but in every real way the library was _home_.

He was nearly there when he was approached by four profoundly serious-looking men who calmly and effectively surrounded him. He prepared to defend himself, but they made no attempt to harm him and for a moment John thought they were at a stand-off. Then one of the men silently handed him a cell phone.

"Hello again, John."

He instantly recognized the refined yet menacing voice of Alistair Wesley.

"Let's have a drink and a chat, shall we? You'll want to hear what I have to say. And should you have any other ideas, kindly look around. My snipers will have you in their sights at all times."

John scanned the surrounding buildings. Gunmen with long-range high power rifles revealed themselves in upper-floor windows at strategic locations along the street. His British counterpart certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Annoyed but hardly alarmed, he allowed himself to be escorted to Wesley's suite at the Plaza Athenee Hotel.

.

Wesley was sitting at a large desk which held a collection of laptops and monitors, while more of his highly-trained operatives guarded the luxurious room. His host appeared every bit as urbane and confident as John remembered.

"It's a little early for a drink."

"There you are, Reese. Welcome to the party."

"What do you want with me, Wesley?"

"You never were one for the social niceties, were you? Very well then."

Wesley tapped the screen of one of the laptops, and John felt his breath leave his body as surely as if he had been punched in the gut.

"As you can see, I've uncovered your little clubhouse."

John stared at the screen. He was looking at a live feed of Harold at work in the library.

"Here you go, Bear."

They watched together as Harold threw the ball, and the dog skidded across the floor in happy pursuit.

_How?_ How had Wesley gotten eyes and ears in their private lair?

John kept his eyes locked on his partner as all the implications of the situation began to sink in. He struggled to maintain his composure, and to keep his face an impassive mask. Wesley was having none of it. The Brit's mouth pulled back in a cold, thin smile.

"Would you like to know what made you so memorable to me in Istanbul? You had no _vulnerabilities._ It made you incorruptible and fearless. You were the single most effective operative I had ever come across. But now…"

Wesley nodded toward the laptop.

"_He _makes you an ideal candidate to assist me in my next project. You and I are going to take a little trip. Do you remember the rules, John? Fail to successfully carry out any part of your mission, he dies. Contact the authorities - or your detective friends - and he dies. And Reese - if he tries to follow you, he dies. Make no mistake here. Your friend will die an excruciating, lingering death - while you watch him beg for the end to come. Don't underestimate me. I won't hesitate to follow through on my side of the game if you disappoint me in any way."

"He'll _never_ stop looking for me," John said quietly. It was the one absolute certainty of his life.

"Well that is a real pity. But it wouldn't be very sporting if I didn't give you a chance to play from a level field."

With one smooth move, Wesley grabbed John's wrist, twisting it outward and plunging a syringe into his arm. It was over and done before he could react.

"Subcutaneous GPS tracking chip. It sits rather nicely between the epidermal and dermal layers of skin, don't you think?"

John watched as Wesley turned to another laptop. A few key strokes and a new blip appeared on the screen - him.

"You have one hour to make sure your friend doesn't interfere with our adventure. And do not alert him to our little game. I believe you understand the consequences."

"And just how am I supposed to do that?"

His voice was low with stone-cold rage. Wesley met his eyes with a malevolent grin, and with a sick feeling John understood exactly what the other man expected him to do.

"I'm sure you'll think of _something_. The clock is ticking, John. Remember - I'll be tracking you, and my people are all over this city. And Reese -"

He gestured towards the image of the library still streaming on the laptop screen.

"I'll be watching, so do try and put on a good show."

.

His mind reeling and his heart pounding, John tried to recall any detail about Wesley that would help him now.

"_Our paths have crossed before - in Istanbul at the market by the Bosphorus."_

In the spring of 2007, the CIA had a significant presence in Istanbul following a series of unsolved - and escalating - terrorist attacks. In addition to investigating the bombings, the United States had a vital interest in protecting the Strait of Bosphorus - the only sea route connecting the Black Sea and the Mediterranean, and conduit for much of the world's oil supply. But the attacks had left the local economy jittery, and Istanbul - the financial center of Turkey - was on edge.

Memories of that time came flooding back to him now. The market at Bosphorus was a sensuous place, with its stalls of brightly colored textiles and exotic local delicacies, and the seductive melodies of street musicians floating on the warm breeze. He had wandered through the crush of merchants and tourists, inhaling the mingled aromas of spices and aphrodisiacs. It had been an intoxicating experience.

But those memories soon gave way to dark, horrific ones - of the market destroyed by explosions and fire, of screams and heartrending wails. Of men, women and children blown apart.

"_After that elaborate plan, you're no more than a common thief."_

"_You know I'm much more than that."_

The economic disruption had been catastrophic. And in the ensuing financial chaos several prominent bank and telecommunication stocks had been churned through the Turkish Stock Exchange for a fantastic sum. The firm in question was eventually revealed to be a shell corporation, but by the time the fraud was discovered the funds had been transferred to an untraceable offshore account. The perpetrators had never been caught, but the mastermind behind the scheme was believed to be Ian Collyer, a rogue MI6 agent who had gone missing the year before.

"_I remember the market. I don't remember you."_

"_That's the point…"_

The devastation at Bosphorus was so notorious that Collyer was rumored to have undergone extensive plastic surgery and assumed a new identity.

John shivered in the hot sun as he recalled the final details. Three witnesses to the market bombing had come forward, and each had been slain before they could give their statements. The victims had been tortured first, and the murders were so gruesome that the full details were never released to the public. But as rumors of the brutal crimes began to swirl throughout Istanbul, Collyer became known in Turkey as _"karanlik iblis" - _the dark demon.

"_He will die a lingering, excruciating death."_

Wesley _was_ Collyer, and John knew that he would do anything - pay any price - to keep Harold safe from him.

He had been walking blindly toward the library but he stopped now to search his mind for another way - any other way - out of his dilemma.

"_We're walking in the dark here."_

That had been true for so much of his life. Yet during these last months - with Harold and their work with the numbers - he had allowed himself to believe that he could walk towards the light again, that redemption was possible even for him.

_Harold…_

John's mind turned back to that day when his partner had fully admitted his involvement with the Ordos fiasco. He would never forget the unmasked vulnerability on Harold's face as his friend had searched _his_ face, prepared to accept whatever judgment John saw fit to pronounce. And he had seen a fleeting glimpse of fear in his partner's eyes - the fear that he would not be forgiven - even as John already knew that there was nothing to forgive.

In many ways it was their best moment, and John had never felt closer to the other man than he had on that day. Harold had spoken of _unintended consequences_, but the real unintended consequence was the unbreakable bond that had been forged between them.

And in that moment of trust and vulnerability his partner had given him the power and the means to undo it all.

John arrived at his destination, trembling in disbelief at what he was about to do.

"_He will die an excruciating and lingering death."_

He set his heart aside and entered the library.

.

"You're rather late today, Mr. Reese," Harold began, setting him up for their normal banter.

"I'm not late, Finch. I'm leaving."

His partner looked at him quizzically, but with such absolute faith that John thought his heart would truly break. For a moment he choked on his words, and Harold continued watching him curiously, as if John was making some odd joke that he just wasn't getting.

"I can't do this anymore. I thought I could get passed Ordos but I can't. I trusted you, but every day you kept the truth from me was a lie."

He watched as the color drained from his partner's face.

"John, what is this about? I thought you understood. The Machine…"

He continued - despising himself more with every word - and somehow all the helplessness and rage he felt towards Wesley was channeled into his voice.

"You said you wanted to help people, but this was always about your delusional need to play god. You're obsessed with power, and you used me, Finch. I see that now and I'm through being your toy."

Harold staggered backwards as if struck by the casual cruelty of the words. Instinctively John began to reach out for him, but he stopped himself and reset his face into a hard mask. Harold grabbed on to the desk and lowered himself into the swivel chair.

"I appreciate everything you did for me. But hey, all good things come to an end."

The sarcasm hung in the air.

Confused by the unfamiliar harshness in his master's voice, Bear looked at John curiously - head cocked to one side - and gave his tail a cautious, hopeful wag.

For one insane moment John wondered if he could communicate telepathically with the dog.

"_It's up to you now, Bear. Take care of him for me."_

Harold was staring at him, naked hurt and confusion etched on his face, but with obvious effort he collected himself.

"Since you've so clearly made up your mind, all that remains is to say goodbye. Good luck, John. I wish nothing but the best for you."

Harold rose unsteadily and extended his hand. John turned away without shaking it, before the other man could see the anguish on his face. Bear rose to follow him.

"Bear, _blijven_." He said the words roughly, shouting them at the dog more loudly than he intended.

Then he turned and walked back into the darkness.

.

A/N: I'm sorry so about all this. Please keep the faith and the next chapter will be up very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The Metaphorical Cover of Darkness

Chapter 2

.

John walked back mindlessly, like a satellite knocked out of its orbit aimlessly drifting through empty space.

Wesley was sitting at his desk, still watching the image on the laptop.

"Bravo, Reese. That was well done indeed. Would you like to know what your friend did after you left? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He just sat there with his head in his hands. I think you really must have been his only friend."

John let the words knife through him without reacting. He felt completely hollow.

"Are you ready to tell me what this is all about?" he asked, not caring in the least.

"Time to brush up on your German, Reese. We're going to Hamburg."

.

Harold held his head in this hands, attempting to ease the pounding there, but his hands were shaking so violently that it only increased the throbbing. Even so, he felt too weak to lift his head.

_What just happened?_

His mind began to compose itself even as his body still trembled. The stranger who just walked out of the library was not the man he knew and trusted, not the friend he knew cared for him and protected him - sometimes over his own objections. Even while John was speaking he had been aware that something was _off_ - there was something pained and almost pleading in the other man's face that hadn't matched the cruelty of his words. And when Harold had stumbled, just for an instant he had seen _his_ John - full of concern for him - before his partner had disappeared once again. For a few minutes Harold considered and discarded a dozen possibilities. Then he gathered up Bear and his laptop and headed for Times Square.

.

Wesley had taken the entire top floor of the Hotel _Vier Jahreszeiten_, and set up his headquarters in a suite with a panoramic view of Hamburg Harbor. John gazed out over the Port of Hamburg. Central Europe's main hub for transatlantic freight, it handled much more than the steady stream of freighters and tankers that passed beneath the Kohlbrand Bridge on a daily basis. Two hundred trains a day crossed its rail network, and the port held one of the largest warehouse districts in the world.

Another city, another vital economic waterway. Wesley - _Collyer_ - was not deviating far from his Istanbul playbook.

During the long flight, Wesley had tried to regale him with stories of his MI6 exploits, attempting to draw him into conversation about the "old days." But John had put his head back and wearily shut him out, and eventually the Brit had left him alone.

Images of his friend looking back at him - hurt and bewildered - had hung in front of his closed eyes, occasionally to be replaced by even more horrifying pictures of his partner in the hands of the monster he knew to be Ian Collyer. John clung to the hope that in that peculiar honor-among-spies way Wesley would mind his own rules and leave Harold unharmed.

The suite hummed with activity like a small corporation. Wesley's minions came and went, bringing in supplies and carrying out his latest directives. Wesley himself was monitoring different locations from his network of laptops.

One of the screens, John was sure, still showed the feed from the library. And as he pictured Harold there, he realized that a small, insistent part of him still harbored the outrageous hope that one day they would meet again and that Harold would forgive him - that they could pick up the pieces of the friendship and trust they had so carefully built, and that he had so thoroughly shattered. It was an absurd thought. He had ridiculed his friend and everything the man held dear, and there was no way that could be undone.

Nevertheless he rehearsed his apology with words that sounded feeble even to his own ears.

Wesley was watching one of the screens with obvious relish. He paused and looked over at John.

"You're friend is closing up shop. How do you Americans put it? He's 'taking his marbles and going home.' Apparently he's given up on your little mission of mercy."

John flinched a little at the words. Wesley considered him for a moment, and John knew he was trying to decide if it would be crueler to show him the screen or withhold it.

"Proof of life?"

Wesley turned the laptop around and slid it towards him. The other man had read him well, but John's eyes sought the screen nonetheless.

He looked bleakly at the barren library. It was indeed as Wesley had described. All of his partner's computer equipment had been removed, and a solemn-looking Harold was taking the last photographs down from the board. Even Bear's bed was gone. John scanned the screen, but the dog was nowhere to be seen. He watched miserably as Harold pulled the grate shut and padlocked it, then slowly limped away. Wesley snapped the laptop shut.

_At least he'll be safe now._

It was the best he could hope for, John reminded himself with a pang, that Harold would let him go and move on.

He turned and surveyed the room for what felt like the hundredth time. Wesley's agents were around him constantly, and the monitor which tracked his GPS device was displayed prominently on the large desk - a none-too-subtle reminder of his captivity. He was as much a prisoner in the luxury suite as he had been at Rikers.

He stalked around the room restlessly, and his agitation seemed to amuse the Brit. Wesley's attack on Hamburg was clearly imminent, yet John had the uneasy feeling that he was missing part of the larger picture. And just as disturbing was the fact that Wesley had not yet given him his _assignment_.

"Why am I here, Wesley?"

"All in good time, Reese. All in good time."

But Wesley didn't speak to him again for the rest of the day, or for most of the following one either, and John's frustration was reaching critical mass. But his relentless pacing was finally starting to get on his captor's nerves. That was something, at least.

"For God's sake, Reese, sit down."

He did, and his eyes landed on the English-language version of _Der Spiegel_ lying on the desk. John glanced at the headline.

"_Leaders Gather for EU Summit" _

The article went on to state that the EU Summit was scheduled to kick off that night with an elaborate cocktail party and dinner at the _Speicherstadt - _the famous warehouse complex and architectural landmark located at the heart of the Port of Hamburg. The full scope of Wesley's plan suddenly became apparent. The man was going to paralyze the entire country _and_ assassinate Europe's foremost financial leaders in one devastating move.

Wesley followed his gaze to the newspaper.

"My explosives will detonate tonight at strategic locations all around the port, including the _Speicherstadt."_

John recalled the havoc the other man had played with the Turkish markets after Bosphorus.

"Your plan won't work, Wesley. If you blow up the city, the European stock exchanges are not going to open in the morning."

"The European markets were never my target, Reese."

He paused for added emphasis.

"Detonation is at 2100 hours precisely."

John understood in an instant.

"That's an hour before _Wall Street _closes."

"Exactly. While America looks on in distracted horror at the tragedy in Hamburg, my associates will be creating a little…_mischief _with your stock market. Extremely profitable mischief, I might add. Of course it won't take long for the irregularities to be discovered, but by then the funds will have already been transferred out and the electronic trail erased."

It was a stunning plan, designed to create maximum economic chaos on both sides of the globe.

Another realization settled over John with sickening clarity.

"You never needed _me _for any of this."

"Of course not. My operatives here reach as high as the _Bundesnachrichtendienst."_

Wesley's normally refined tone turned vicious.

"I needed you and your partner out of the way. You have no idea how many times my snipers had you both in their crosshairs. But it all would have been so ungratifying. You two cost me a small fortune when you interfered with the doctor, and I wanted you to know who had finally gotten the better of you. While I admire your game, I really don't have a sense of humor where money is concerned."

Wesley sneered at him with malicious satisfaction.

"_This_ plan presented the opportunity for a little revenge as well. Not all torture is physical, as you well know. I thoroughly enjoyed watching you destroy your clever friend. He looked quite broken when you were finished with him. But it really was a rather pathetic display. What happened to you, Reese? When did you get so soft?"

John's mind flew back to Harold, and the ruin this man had made of their lives and their work. Even as he lunged at the Brit he knew it was a futile gesture. Wesley never flinched. His men were on John in an instant, then everything went dark.

.

A/N: Yes, I know. Does anyone really care about global economic apocalypse when John and Harold are in trouble? Hang in there with me, please. The final chapter is coming very soon!

A special note to my readers in Germany: It's been years since I've been in Hamburg, and I'm sure I've rearranged the city a little. But can we all just agree to call it "dramatic license" rather than "glaring factual error?" Thanks for that!

(Why Hamburg? My grandfather was born in nearby Elmshorn, so I'm a tiny bit familiar with the area.)

And thank you to everyone for your reviews, and for following this story. It's appreciated more than you know!


	3. Chapter 3

The Metaphorical Cover of Darkness

Chapter 3

.

John gave his head a slow shake and tried to pull the room back into focus. He was bound tightly to the hard desk chair, and positioned facing the large window where the lights of Hamburg twinkled festively below. Behind him Wesley was giving final instructions to his remaining operatives, and the last of his men departed to carry out their directives.

The gold clock on St. Michaelis church showed eight-forty-five.

"You're awake. Good. I wouldn't want you to miss the evening's entertainment. I hope you enjoy it, because afterwards your part in this game must come to an end - a rather _permanent_ end I'm afraid."

John was neither surprised nor especially concerned - he had never been playing this game for himself.

"And Finch?"

Wesley shrugged.

"No rules were broken so he lives."

So Harold would live, and he would live on believing that John had thrown away their friendship, that everything they had built together meant nothing to him. And before him a city was about to burn, and hundreds of lives would be lost. He had never felt so helpless, or so completely empty.

The church bells began to peal, a lovely complement to the clear Hamburg night. John braced himself for the detonation. The bells finished their melody and for a moment all was still. Then with a loud hum the lights in the hotel quivered and went out. But the harbor below was peaceful, and Hamburg carried on unperturbed, and indifferent to the evening's intrigue.

The dim emergency lights powered on, casting an eerie, greenish glow over the room.

For a moment, Wesley stood there dumbstruck and uncomprehending.

"I see," he said finally.

With a shaking hand he filled a tumbler to the brim with whiskey, downing the drink and smashing the glass to the floor in one smooth movement. Then he turned his rage on John.

"Was this _you_?"

John remained silent. He had no idea what just happened, though a truly impossible thought darted through the back of his mind.

"It doesn't matter. You're never going to interfere with another plan of mine."

He picked up his gun and John expected a bullet, but instead Wesley brought the butt of the weapon down so hard against his face that John thought he might black out. Pain radiated in waves through his head, and as blood began trickling into his mouth the gun came down savagely a second time. As Wesley raised his weapon for another attack, John realized that the words he had rehearsed so often during these days would now go unsaid and unheard, so he spoke them in his heart instead.

"_I'm sorry, Harold."_

He tensed for the next blow, but instead there was a thunderous crash and the door was blown open. For a moment the room was illuminated only by flashes of gunfire, but suddenly the lights flickered back on. The Demon of Bospherus stared at him with fury in his eyes and a sneer still fixed on his face. And as blood began seeping through his crisp Burberry shirt, he abruptly fell to his knees.

His back to the door, John heard before he saw a dozen BND agents swarm the suite, restraining Wesley and clearing each room.

Then he heard one more person enter the room, someone with a distinctive, well-known step. And that step was followed by a voice - so familiar and so very welcome.

"I'll do that, officer."

Harold's hands rested on his shoulders for a moment and John heard his friend exhale with relief. Then the ties fell away from his wrists.

"Harold, I am so - "

Suddenly the words he had waited so long to say caught in his throat.

His partner's eyes locked onto his own.

"Not a word, John. I understand everything."

He winced as Harold tilted his head to get a better look at his face, and in his turn Harold cringed when he saw the damage there.

"Colonel, we need a medic here. _Schnell, bitte."_

For a few minutes neither man spoke as the doctor patched up John's face under Harold's anxious gaze.

Finally John said quietly,

"How could you -"

"Once I made the connection between Wesley and Collyer I anticipated his plan and shared my suspicions with the BND. They've been working quietly over the last twenty-four hours to pick up Wesley's operatives and disarm his explosives, but they had to move slowly so as not to alert him until the situation was under control."

Harold looked at his partner's battered face with a pained expression.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come for you sooner, John. But the _Polizei_ needed to secure the city first. And I needed time to override Wesley's surveillance system with my own digitally altered version."

He knew he shouldn't really be surprised, but John still found himself regarding his partner with a new kind of awe. Even Harold seemed exceedingly pleased with himself.

"To ensure that potential collateral damage was minimized, I also hacked the port's communication network. That allowed me to divert all incoming vessels to the Port of Rotterdam and redirect the rail traffic to Frankfurt and Berlin."

John's mind suddenly presented him with an image of a young Harold on Christmas morning playing with his first electric train set. But before he could savor that picture any further, they were interrupted by the arrival of the State Minister who approached Harold gratefully.

"Your assistance with this case was invaluable. INTERPOL has been searching for this man for a very long time. Thank you once again for your help, _Herr Schwann._"

John had absolutely no control over the grin now spreading across his face, even though it caused his wounds to ache all over again.

"You're _Mr. Swan_ now?"

Harold just shrugged and gave him the tiniest of smiles, and something tight in John finally let loose. A wave of giddy relief threatened to bring tears to his eyes. Through his eyes at least, the new moniker seemed absolutely perfect.

Awash with relief and gratitude, John realized, however, that he still needed to _know_.

"Harold, what I meant before was, how could you be so sure about _me_? Why did you even look for me after the way I treated you?"

The other man smiled and held his eyes for a moment.

"Since we're in Germany, allow me to answer you by quoting Goethe," he replied.

"_All das Wissen besitze ich alle anderen erweben konnen, aber mein Herz gehort mir allein."_

Harold looked at him expectantly and John rolled his eyes.

"A little help here, please?"

"It means, _'All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is mine alone.'"_

Harold gazed at him with abiding affection.

"I _know_ you, John," he continued steadfastly. "And I knew that you would never -"

John's heart clenched as Harold faltered over what was still a raw and painful memory, but his partner quickly recovered and continued.

"I knew that you would never willingly betray me, never…_hurt_ me like that. Armed with that _truth_, and with the realization that you spoke to me that way in our own sanctuary, I had to accept that the library had been compromised. Of all our enemies there was only one with the resources to accomplish such a feat - to circumvent all of my security measures - Alistair Wesley.

I hacked the security system at JFK Airport from a remote location, and when I saw the two of you boarding a flight together my suspicions were confirmed. Once I arrived in Hamburg I was able to crack the encryption on Wesley's private network. It was then that I discovered the GPS device he had placed in you.

"You can get it out, right? The tracker?"

Harold's eyes were positively gleaming.

"Why on earth would I _ever_ do that, Mr. Reese? But rest assured that I've already modified the frequency so that only I have access to your signal."

John opened his mouth to protest but closed it again when he realized that he didn't mind.

.

They stayed to give their statements to the BND, and morning had already broken over the city as they left the hotel. Bright sunlight suffused them as they stepped outside into the already bustling Hamburg day, and John paused to soak it in. Harold gave him a moment.

"We really should be on our way, John."

His partner addressed him now with mock severity.

"_I_ understand what transpired here, but you have some making up to do with Bear."

John was indeed eager to make things right with their canine friend. But at the thought of being back in the library - of being _home_ - with Harold and Bear around him, his throat suddenly tightened, so he simply nodded in agreement.

"Are you with me, John?"

He really didn't know much German, but suddenly John found exactly the right word.

"_Immer, _Harold. _Immer."_

_._

FIN

.

I'm sure that everyone made the connection that _immer_ means "always" in German. The BND is Germany's equivalent of our CIA, and I think the other German phrases are understandable from context.

I had this chapter finished and ready to go - with Wesley being killed in the end. Then one of my wonderful reviewers - thank you "Guest" - suggested that perhaps this could become an ongoing rivalry between Wesley and our guys, and I loved that idea. So I let Wesley live - just to keep that door open.

This final chapter could have played out any number of different ways, so I hope you enjoyed my ending. But feel free to let me know either way. I'm always trying to improve, and I take constructive feedback seriously.

Thanks again to everyone for reading and reviewing!


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